Forsaken
by ironbutterfly25
Summary: [Currently reworking this story] It was a dangerous game she was trying to play. Didn't she know better than to play with the devil? [Pre-RE5]
1. Chapter 1

**Warning:** This story has dubcon/noncon elements.

 **Author's Notes:** As I've said before, I'm trying to rework my stories from last year. Time is not on my side though, only allowing me to do tweaks here and there. This story of mine is the most raw, but I had a real blast when I was writing it before and I would like to thank everyone who simply loved it AS it was. I've received multiple requests to put it back, to continue, and to finish it. Thank you for the motivation. I'm trying my best and hoping that I will eventually finish this piece.

Thank you for taking the time to read as always.

Your support is more than appreciated~

* * *

 _Survivor_.

That word had always defined her, after all, surviving was what she had always did best.

Adapt.

Fight.

Survive.

Her life had been a series of nightmares since that fateful night in Raccoon. A nightmare. One after another. She remembered with clarity the stench of decaying bodies. Clawed hands furiously reaching for her. Hungry mouths eagerly waiting to feed on the flesh of the living. Monsters in human form. Monsters in animal form. Monsters in forms that shouldn't even exist.

She had survived all of them.

So this should come to an end too. Just like all the other nightmares before it.

And then she would live again…

Or at least pretend to.

* * *

Her eyes remained locked on the ceiling, on the glittering chandelier - its hanging crystals like frozen tears. Greedy hands ran the length of her body, until an all too warm palm cupped a breast— _testing_.

Always testing.

A soft moan escaped her pale lips. Her back arched towards the exploring hand, body curving so that the softness of her pressed tight against callouses.

Always pliant.

A shadow soon hovered over her naked form. Hellish red eyes observed her with undisguised desire.

Wesker peered into her passive face as his strong fingers began to squeeze.

A gasp tumbled out of her little mouth.

She couldn't close her eyes to the image of _sin_.

* * *

"You did well today." A praise hissed against the outer rim of her ear, making her shiver.

The searing warmth of his hands left her tender. His fingers traveled down the length of her body, dipping at the apex of her thighs. And her legs fell open invitingly, welcoming his will.

 _No. Don't_. Her thoughts whispered, caged inside a lustful body tethered to his want. Fleeting words that had been uttered countless of times in the shell of herself. They had probably lost their weight by now. Their meaning.

All of this was not wanted.

But she had _tried_ fighting. Tried fighting before. She had tried fighting. Tried for a while. Tried. Only to learn that her body was not hers anymore. Her hands that were once trained to end his life only pulled him in closer. Her mouth that was once capable of cursing him to hell and back could only gasp and moan in response to his vile touch. She had tried fighting, only to find out that this was a fight that couldn't be won by sheer strength alone.

Her struggles only existed in her mind. Her screams only echoed in her mind. They did nothing to aid that physical part of herself, the part writhing uselessly under his mouth. They did nothing to help that part, the part feeling every torturous pleasure he inflicted on her.

She had discovered that the harder she fought against the poison he fed her; the more exhausted she was when her body had finished metabolizing the last of it. She was then reduced to a rag doll when the last drop of the P30 was gone.

Powerless.

Unable to fight. Unable to escape. Unable to live.

So Jill Valentine decided to sit quietly in the cold cell that was her mind.

Adapting.

Waiting for the right time to fight.

Surviving.

* * *

Without warning, two long fingers slid into her wet cunt, curling in deliciously. Her mouth opened in a silent cry and a sinister smirk etched itself on his face. Her eyes shut close again when those sinful fingers began to move inside. He always took his time. He wasn't disillusioned, knew well that her compliance was only a lie created by a mind control drug. He took delight at the sight of her undeniably drenched, unable to hide the arousal he could effortlessly raise in her.

His wrist turned and the pads of his fingers dragged over her front wall. Slow _stimulating_ strokes. Her thighs trembled and her legs twisted over the sheets.

Jill felt herself flutter around his digits.

All too soon, she was moaning and panting.

His looming body lowered over her. Hot mouth ghosting over her parted one. She stared at his lips, anticipating the claim of his kiss. Her fingers anchored themselves on his shoulders, nails raking into the fabric of his shirt, scratching over his clothed skin...

Her peak fast approaching.

But he stopped and ruined everything.

Typical.

She wanted to claw at the smug look on his face when he promptly got off of her. But found that her body, as usual, wouldn't do anything that would remotely go against his will. So her body helplessly laid there. Her legs spread open. Her thighs slick with want. Her breathing uneven.

He settled against the pillows fully clothed, not a single strand of hair out of place, studying her still. He was a black blotch against the silvery white sheets. His fingers, well-coated with her want, were brought to his lips. His tongue slithered out to taste her essence, a low groan escaping him. The mere sound of it moved her body. She then found herself crawling onto his lap.

And he allowed her to settle on top of him.

It seemed to be the first time she saw him like this—at this angle.

Looking down at those calculating eyes of his.

Looking down.

At him.

A shiver uncontrollably ran down her spine. Her eyes turned away from his, as her deft fingers moved to rid him of his clothing. She dutifully undid all the buttons on his dress shirt, slowly revealing unblemished skin to her eyes. She had seen him take bullets and blades. And she had seen him recover from all sorts of fatality. He had truly turned himself into a monster.

 _Thump_. _Thump_. But that damned heart defiantly existed. Beating underneath her fingertips. She almost took offense at the feeling of it. Its existence like a mockery. _How could he still possess such a thing?_ Someone who had thrown away his humanity. Someone who had been all too glad of ridding himself of it.

His hands pulled her to him. His mouth latched on the rosy tip of her left breast. She threw her head back, crying out loud. The intensity of the sensation swept her under and tied her down to the hungry pulls of his lips.

 _Thump. Thump_. Her own damned heart took its turn on mocking her.

* * *

Wesker grabbed at her hips, spilling her there on his lap. He watched her cry out when his clothed erection caressed her bare skin.

She could feel him.

 _All of him_.

Rigid and wanting.

Heat pooled in her belly at the contact. His mouth closed around her other nipple and she moaned in response. Her fingers threaded into his slicked back hair, disarranging his strict styling. He groaned around her teat, his tongue swiped over her hardened peak until she was just tingling all over. She proceeded to grind herself against him, her body undulating wildly in her need. The rough material of his pants scratched at her skin, titillating her further.

Her body was so wanton. Shameless in its craving for his touch.

So she chose to shut the windows in her mind.

Pretended it was a different person out there.

 _Fooled herself_ into unseeing… unhearing… unfeeling.

* * *

The fire within her flared and consumed her whole. His hands released their grip on her hips. His lips found her pulse as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him impossibly closer. He nipped there, leaving a fresh bruise to cover the old ones. She felt his fingers return to her wetness, slipping easily inside, stretching her, _preparing_ her. She got lost to the rhythm of it—of him playing her.

"Please… Please…" She heard herself murmur on his ear.

He was always gracious to her indecent pleas. And so he brought her higher and higher still. His fingers twisting and spreading, opening her to him. She didn't notice his other hand fumble to loose his belt, to tear his pants open. She could hardly care as her moans got louder, and her body got closer and closer to that edge his long fingers were urging her to. His thumb pressed and _dragged_ over the bundle of nerves at the top of her slit and then she was done.

Just done.

 _Completely unmade by him_. Blood rushed in her ears, blocking all other noise, blocking the whole world out. Her breathing came in short pants, making her head pound, making her heart pound.

So hard.

She trembled and whimpered in his strong arms. Her fingers tangled in his blond locks, holding on tight as her body helplessly rode the orgasm he bestowed upon her.

During the contractions, his fingers left her twitching body.

Through the haze of it all, she felt him rub the bulbous head of his cock against her. Once. Twice.

He was so hot.

Burning hot.

Then he was _ripping_ into her.

* * *

It hurt.

Still.

It fucking hurt.

Even after all the times before.

Jill struggled to catch her breath.

It felt too big. Too wide.

It was too much. Too sudden.

She tightened painfully around his turgid length. The pleasure her orgasm had brought seemed to work against her. She was tensing and fighting the intrusion and simply feeling so full.

 _So full of him_.

She wouldn't be able to take him like this. It would just hurt. The sting of the forceful stretching could already be felt. Tears made her pale blue eyes glassy. Behind the bars of her own mind, she wanted to desperately escape his clutches.

But her body seemed to have other ideas. She bit her lower lip as she concentrated on taking him in. His eyes were on her face, watching her effort—relishing in her struggle.

Her face burned as he observed her rub her clit to ease the discomfort. Her hips moved in little hypnotizing circles. She was like a bundle of thread unraveling with each grind. Her throat produced those little sounds that made him groan and throb _for her_.

He made a slight thrust of his hips. Another testing.

She moaned as she took every inch inside. Unabashed noises slipped past out of her bitten lips. And soon enough, he was completely seated inside of her.

All of his length inside. Lying snug. All of him. Filling her.

A gasp of his name escaped her.

He was _so deep_ , his tip was pressed tight against the entrance of her womb.

Her hands took leverage on his shoulders and she brought herself up slowly, her thighs shaking. She could feel every bulging vein along his pulsing length as her hips moved excruciatingly slow. Her eyes fixated on where their bodies were joined. The heat there was making her melt from the inside out. Despite the discomfort, there was no bleeding. She had bled plenty because of him before.

She was getting used to it… To his cock… To his want... To everything him— _again_. Her mind was horrified by the thought but her body was thrilled by it. She moved her hips down, effectively impaling herself on the whole length of him. The moan that left her throat sounded so lewd that she didn't want to believe it came from her.

A strong hand closed around the base of her neck, roughly demanding her attentiveness. And she looked straight at those bright cold eyes as she tried to ride the cock between her legs. He gritted his teeth as he pulled her close. His hot breath fanned over her sweaty face.

"I'm afraid we haven't got all night, Jill." An order.

Her teeth bit on her lip hard, until she tasted the bitterness of her own blood.

And then she rode him. Faster. Harder. She panted at the effort. She watched him eye her heavy breasts as they bounced with each thrust. A minute pain was still there. A nagging reminder. Wasn't it said that the presence of pain meant something was wrong? That was probably the reason for the pain whenever Wesker took her.

No matter how wet she was.

No matter how many times he had made her come.

There was still pain. Because all of it was wrong.

What he was doing. What she was doing. What they were doing.

She felt his bruising grip around her hips, tightening even more with each downward thrust.

 _It will be over soon_.

The demanding ride she had to endure would be over soon. The act itself never lasted too long and she had taken comfort from that fact. He ground himself deeper into her, before he met her thrust for thrust - his strength unrestrained.

He could break her one of these days, she thought, if he hadn't already.

A rush of pleasure washed over her body, originating from her core. She tightly closed her eyes as her thrusts faltered.

He snatched her close, grunted loudly in her ear as he reached his own release.

It always felt like drowning every time he finished inside of her, that sticky heat of his flooding her. Consuming her. Claiming her. She hated that the feeling of his warm release pushed her over the edge again. Every. Single. Time.

Her body bowed in his arms in an almost impossible angle, contorting into something that should _not_ resemble herself. And he held her close against the hard planes of his body. Bruising and oh so close.

She should be suffocating from his embrace and from the unbearable heat surrounding them.

But she continued breathing.

 _Surviving_.

* * *

She rested her head on his bare chest, catching her breath. She felt boneless—fucked senseless. And she couldn't help it but moan a little at every slight movement he dared to make. He was still hard inside of her. And she involuntarily clenched around him upon noticing. His seed spilled out of her in lazy drips along his length.

Jill closed her eyes, powerless against the false state of peace the orgasm had left her in. She laid still in the arms of her enemy, waiting for the freedom only sleep could give her… when she felt it.

Suddenly.

Like tiny sparks running rampant under her skin. The telltale signs of the drug leaving her system.

She forced her eyes open, trying to look for a clock. _How long did it last this time?_ Wait. What was the time when he last injected her in the first place? Her brows furrowed together as she tried to remember.

Her train of thought was unceremoniously disrupted when her worn out body was pushed to the side. The abrupt withdrawal made her wince, not exactly because it hurt, but because it felt… obscenely wet.

There was the usual soreness, especially there - deep inside.

She felt his seed trickling down her inner thighs. Her legs closed as she held a shiver in.

She found herself staring up at the unlit chandelier again. She took a deep breath in as she turned her head to the side - the side he wasn't occupying. She proceeded to watch her fingers from the corner of her eye. Her hand laid there on the mattress, palm up - looking so defenseless.

Her mind willed her hand to curl into a fist. She observed as each finger then curled in on itself, like closing petals of a flower, until only a solid fist was there. A fist. Made by her own will. Made by her own doing.

It was almost like a wonder, almost like a toddler learning how to walk for the first time. She waited for her breathing to even out, waited then for normal strength to rush into her body.

Control—it was hers again.

"Jill."

His voice was roughened by their activity. It took her longer to respond to his wishes. But she looked at him in time and saw him standing there. His blond hair in disarray because of her hands. His black pants still undone. His body sweating like any mortal man.

Her eyes strayed from his form after the quick assessment.

Disinterest.

So unlike when she was under the drug. In there, _Wesker was the center of everything_. The only one she could focus on.

She took his room in. She had been there many times before. She had slept on that bed many times before. And yet, it felt like it was the first time she was seeing all those sleek furniture. The silken sheets even felt nice, cool against her overheated skin.

Her eyes found a black case by the bedside table. She froze up for a moment, recognizing that it was her _special_ case. The case for the P30. He would give her another dose if he found out that the drug was already out of her system. Her heart started beating faster as she tried her best to collect her thoughts.

"Jill, come."

He sounded impatient. And that would not do.

So she sat up hurriedly on the bed, legs slipping over the edge. She saw him leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. _When did he get there?_ There was the sound of water running inside. She swallowed the forming lump in her throat as she felt him assess her. She got on her feet rather quickly.

This would not do. She couldn't panic. She couldn't allow him to see through her. She tried to go to him as fast as she could, only to wobble like a child and fall on her knees.

Pathetic.

In a heartbeat, hardened hands seized her back to her feet. Like cold shackles closing around her wrists. She was still surprised by his speed every time. She mustered all her courage to look up at the man who chose to be a monster. To look at him without hatred bleeding through her eyes.

 _Would he know it was gone?_ Of course he would think it had run out. She fucking stumbled. The P30 wouldn't let her trip like that.

He released one of her wrists. His free hand then tilted her head up, thumb caressing her bottom lip stained prettily with her blood.

She tried her best not to swallow, not to flinch away.

The alarming of his phone then split the silence in the room. She had no idea what that alarm was for but it made her sweat bullets.

Moving her neck a little, her tongue slid past that pair of plump lips to trace along his calloused thumb. Then she put it in her mouth, sucking softly. She made a little noise at the back of her throat, tasting the lingering essence of herself on his skin.

She was stalling for time. _What was that alarm for? For replenishing her P30 dose?_

She sucked harder.

And her hand closed around the heavy length of him. Her eyes still locked with his. It felt strange—seducing him. It was uncomfortable in its familiarity. He felt slick to the touch, coated in the aftermath of their coupling. She gave him a tentative stroke, her hand gliding over the tight skin with ease, little thumb pressing against the hard underside.

He remained unmoved.

Or so she thought as her lips released his thumb.

That wouldn't do at all.

So she slid down on her knees before him, saw his nostrils flare at the sight of her surrender.

Her knees didn't quite reach the carpeted floor, for she was jerked right back up on her feet.

She stifled a gasp when his arm wound around her waist and lifted her off of the floor. Out of instinct, she found herself wrapping her legs around his hips... afraid that he would drop her. Or that he would throw her across the room. Or… Or… She didn't really know.

So she wrapped her arms around his neck instead, masking the frantic pounding of her heart with pretend eagerness.

 _Pliant still_.

* * *

In the next moment, her back was pressed hard against the wall of the shower. His throbbing length poised at her entrance.

Hot water beat down on their slowly cooling bodies. She bowed her body off of the cold wall, only to end up pressing herself quite suggestively against him.

"So eager...", he murmured on her ear.

Thrill laced in his tone. There was a pleased rumble in his voice that made her face burn in shame.

A sound of protest escaped her throat when he started _sinking_ into her. In a single thrust, he buried himself inside. All at once. Right down to the hilt. Leaving her no room to breathe as he filled her to the brim.

His thirsty mouth swallowed her whimpers and cries. He didn't wait for her to adjust this time. He started pounding into her body with reckless abandon. His thin lips trailed fervent kisses down her jawline and to her horror, she realized that she was dripping all over his cock. Fucking dripping. Her poor pussy squelching around him, hungrily sucking him in.

Feeling that good was criminal, wrong in all manner.

But he was sliding in and out easily. So easily. It was just _embarrassing_. Her body had loosened enough to accommodate his girth. She threw her head back, wrenching her mouth from his, moaned loudly as he stroked at that sweet spot deep inside of her. There was tenderness, but the heat steadily pooling in her belly soothed the ache. Her legs locked around him way tighter than before, helplessly clinging to the devil plundering her body.

She was surely going to die there—in his arms.

Burning and burning.

Turning into ashes.

"No, no, no, n-no…" she uttered mindlessly.

Wesker smiled against the heat of her skin, well aware of the pleasure overriding her morals.

He dipped his head and captured her traitorous lips in a searing kiss.

"No?" He asked her in a voice so low that it sounded almost genuine. Almost caring. Almost.

He caught her eyes. Her pleading glassy blue eyes. So confused. So vulnerable.

And he knew she was there—all of her, the real her.

He slowed his thrusts but increased the depth of each one. He watched her face. Contorting in rhythm with the intense sensations.

 _Exquisite_.

He gave her a rather sharp thrust to hear her keening.

She didn't disappoint.

"Wesker—" she gasped out as she tried to make sense of what to do. Her fingernails were digging into his back, trying to hurt him. She couldn't exactly fight him off. _Or wouldn't?_ He would know the drug had lost its effect if she did. She needed him to believe the drug was still in control of her. That he was still in control of her. _But wasn't he still?_ Her nails dug deep into his back, breaking his skin, drawing his foul blood.

He let her.

"Do you want me to stop, hmm?" He suckled on one of her breasts. The sound alone made her whole body burn hotter. She tightened around him and he groaned at the feeling of her—so wet and constricting and _just right_. "Jill." He gritted his teeth, his pace picking up again.

Her teeth bit down on her tongue, preventing herself from begging him to stop.

She could do it. Endure everything. She had to.

Her lips crashed on his and she kissed him with all the desperation she could muster.

Making it look like she wanted it.

Making it look like it was still drugged Jill.

 _Was there even a difference?_

"Please…", she whispered. Her fingertips traced the sharp cut of his jaw. Her lips molded over his. "Please don't stop..."

He welcomed her bittersweet kisses, watched as she came apart in his arms. So lovely. Her cunt so tight and hot that he could do nothing else but spill himself inside of her. Branding her on the inside with his release.

He heard a sob escaped her lips after their breathing had calmed down. Her knuckles curled into tight fists against his shoulders. She was shaking, clinging to him, waiting for him to release her.

To be done with her.

Waiting patiently.

On her own accord.

* * *

Wesker dropped her on her weakened legs, gave her a false sense of freedom for a few seconds. He watched her rest her back against the wall. Her whole body was trembling like a leaf from the ordeal. But her eyes were bright—burning with that self-righteousness he so despised. He allowed her to bask in the illusion of release for another moment.

Before he took it crudely away from her, roughly pushing her face first on the transparent glass separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom.

She was panting still as she tried to hold herself up against the slippery glass. Her legs were threatening to give out on each passing second.

Without the P30, she would tire out faster.

Without it, she wasn't Wesker's super soldier.

Without it, she was just Jill Valentine.

She felt him press himself against her from behind.

"Wesk—", a thoughtless complaint. Her right arm reached back to dissuade him. He only grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her close. She was exhausted, felt like they'd been at it for hours. He never used her this long before. It was always just one round—a nightly routine for him. Some deed to re-establish his claim on her.

His gaze seemed to set her skin aflame. She could feel it travel the length of her body. His right hand slithered to her front, slipping between her thighs, making her whimper. She was torn between closing and parting her legs for him. His fingers touched her oversensitive clit and her knees buckled at the rush of pleasure.

Too much. Too soon.

He opted for parting her lips down there. And she felt the liquid warmth of him streak down her thighs. It was thick and abundant. She wanted to reach down. To wash his seed off of her. To cleanse herself of this filth.

It wouldn't matter, she thought, as his hands pulled her hips towards his, he would just seed her _again_.

He dipped his fingers into her cunt, moving in and out for a good minute or two, before he replaced them with his leaking length. She swore he got thicker every time. It should terribly hurt by now. But all she could feel was the smooth thrusting of his length into her supple body. She was reduced to a moaning and screaming mess with each thrust.

Her eyes caught the image of herself and the tyrant fucking on the mirror across the room.

That was _her_.

All that wet pale blonde hair and teary light blue eyes was her.

And even with her in full control of her body, she couldn't do anything else but watch him fuck her.

She watched him take pleasure from her body like it his right. His hand slipped in the apex of her thighs again. Her lips parted for a wordless cry as he abused that all too sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers. His other hand occupied itself with one of her breasts, pinching and pulling on her swollen nipple.

It was a sort of sinister pleasure.

And with it clouding her mind, she thought of herself and him from a different time. From a seemingly _different lifetime_. She and her tight little black skirt bunched up around her waist. He and his signature black tactical vest and blue undershirt drenched in sweat and left unbuttoned. They were bent over his old wooden desk - breeding like animals. He was whispering dirty reprimands on her ear.

 _Does this look like a proper office attire to you, Miss Valentine?_ The distant past echoed within her.

"Jill…" The dreadful present jarred her back.

The voice was the same.

But it wasn't the Captain she once knew grunting in pleasure against her ear now. Her body acknowledged his need though - a traitor to her own mind.

His pace quickened and her small hands clutched on the arms wound tightly around her aching body.

Together they found release yet again.

And with that, her body finally gave out.

He held her weightless form up against him. Her soft whimpers spurred him on. But he held back, untangling himself from her spent body, pressing a kiss at the back of her head.

She was barely awake when he placed her in the tub filled with warm water.

The scent of freesia invaded her senses, before she succumbed to a restless sleep.

* * *

Gloved hands toyed with the clasp of a black case.

Snap. Open. Close. Snap.

Shaded eyes looked at a sleeping figure.

Contemplating.

Wesker opened the case. Counted the syringes lined neatly inside. Red orange liquid inside them—the color of his eyes. Hell in little tubes, just waiting to be unleashed.

P30.

The human body could only take a specific amount. Too much could cause a mental breakdown, reducing the subjects into nothing but mindless beasts in human form. And when the drug was metabolized from their bodies, they were left in a vegetative state, turned useless. But it was a flawless form of mind control. For a time. A rather quick time. No grotesque mutations unlike the plagas. Expensive to develop. Wasteful.

But Jill seemed to have adapted to it. She was otherworldly under its influence.

Elegant. Fast. Strong.

 _Godlike_.

So much like him.

He closed the case. Snapped the clasp in place.

No one could be like him.

 _No one_.

She couldn't stay in that "godly" state without the drug. But under it, she was also under his absolute control.

She played an interesting game tonight though.

Jill Valentine.

Always so... tricky.

Pretending to be under the influence of the P30.

She challenged him. Still. Always.

Wesker turned his eyes to her sleeping form again, only to find that she was now wide awake. The dim lighting of the private plane cast shadows on her face. It made her eyes almost appear colorless. Cold and calculating. He observed her expression. And she stared back at him, feigning serenity.

He wondered if there was an ache between her legs as she sat there demurely. Clothed in a soft blue off shoulder shirt dress. Her light blonde hair loose around her, still a little wet. Her lips a swollen pink from his kisses.

His fingers flicked the case in his hands open, testing her reaction.

He watched closely as she looked at what was in his hands. Her eyes flickering in recognition.

 _Don't make this easy_ , he thought amused.

She stood from her seat.

He reclined on his, made himself comfortable as she approached.

Jill placed a knee in between his legs, her dress hiked up her pale thighs almost innocently.

Interest now caught. The case was placed on the nearby table.

His hand wrapped tightly around one of her wrists, tugging her down to sit on his lap.

He felt her stiffen. Just for a split second.

Before she willed her body to relax against him.

He let her curl there.

A mischievous kitten.

Amusing him to no end.

 _How long can you play, Jill?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning:** dubcon/noncon elements are present in this story

 **Author's Note:** I'm admittedly slow on reworking the chapters for this fic, mainly because I'm pretty torn between doing major revisions or not. There are parts I don't agree with anymore, parts that don't fit with the future scenes I have for this work. Actually, I've written a completely different first chapter for this story already haha! But I'm full of doubt if I can totally rebuild a similar story from that draft.

Anyway, I'll just continue reworking the rest of the chapters and then hopefully when I reach chapter 12, the next installments will flow in smoother.

As always, thank you for giving my stories a try~ :D

* * *

The arched windows shattered, effortlessly defeated by the sudden crushing weight forced upon them.

Her grip on the hilt of her knife weakened as she felt the _drop_. Her knife threatened to slip away from her grasp in each passing second. Her only weapon left - threatening to leave her defenseless. A shudder ran beneath her skin. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, like a little bird rattling in its cage desperate for an escape. Her blood rushed into her head, turning her ears deaf. The harsh cold slowly enveloped her body, intending to freeze her.

 _So this is what falling to your death feels like._

She was afraid.

 _I'm going to die here._

Terribly afraid.

She knew the ground was coming up fast. Soon. Her fingers tried to secure a hold on the material of the tyrant's coat. It was drenched from the storm surging around them.

But she could still do it, she thought. Try one last time. She could still end it—all of it.

With one clean stab, the nightmare would end.

It couldn't be that simple.

But there was not enough time to deliberate her options. Not like there would be other consequences to her next actions.

Death was the _only_ consequence waiting.

And she had to make it count.

So with all the strength her trembling limbs could offer, she drove her sharpened blade into the overheated body before her, into the mastermind behind every nightmare haunting her since Raccoon.

The first stab caught him off guard. The knife cut through his flesh easily enough. She heard him hiss in pain. A moment of fear flooded her body, urging her to continue. She pulled the knife out quickly, only to sheath it back into the fatal gash on his side.

Over and over.

She stabbed him.

Repeatedly.

As much as she could.

Twisting. Slicing. Goring.

Until all she could become aware of was the warmth of his blood.

Seeping into her skin.

 _Becoming a part of her_.

* * *

At some point during their fall, he had shifted. Maneuvered his lithe body so that they were face to face.

His eyes were golden red flames. Rage evident. Reflecting hell in them.

His features were twisted in a grimace. Pain apparent. Promising infernal retribution.

His blood was rapidly cooling in her murderous hands.

There was nothing human left in him, nothing of the past, nothing of the man she once knew.

She couldn't do anything else then, but to stare at death with false bravery.

 _I'm going to die here_.

The whipping winds took the ball cap off of her head, the tie secured on her hair snapped next. A choked sound escaped her lips as wet brown strands lashed on her face. Her vision blurred. She started crying. Her tears mixing with the rain beating at their falling bodies.

Edward.

Joseph.

Kenneth.

Forest.

Richard.

Enrico.

Brad.

 _Jill_.

It had been eight years. She could have died in that infested city. Along with the rest of the S.T.A.R.S.

Dying. Rotting. Burning.

Betrayed.

 _I'm going to die here_.

It wasn't her time then.

Rebecca.

Barry.

Chris.

Oh Chris.

 _Chris_.

"I don't want to die here."

Famous last words.

* * *

A jerk ran through the entirety of her body, the feeling of falling startling her awake.

She woke, curled still on his lap, inside a plane, their destination remaining unknown to her.

Her head felt heavy, throbbing with the memories of the Spencer Estate. She winced as images of broken bones and mangled flesh invaded her mind.

"What did you dream about?", he asked, voice leaden as if he had been asleep for as long as she was. She imagined pain within her, from torn muscles and gashes and fractures. She turned away from the picture her mind had painted, face unconsciously pressing on the hard shoulder her head had been resting on.

Her eyes slid close. Her lips released a sigh along with an answer— "The fall."

* * *

She recalled awakening in a hospital, debilitated and disoriented.

They told her she was in a coma. For how long didn't seem to be important.

They told her she was safe in that little white room. The exact location didn't seem to be important as well.

They told her it was somewhere in Europe. Somewhere she guessed was not easy to find.

The doctors and nurses were blissfully accommodating on the first day. On the very next, they were conveniently replaced by fidgeting parrots trained to spout reassuring words that suspiciously bled of _his deceit_.

She had spent what meager strength she could muster every day then - screaming for the labcoats to bring her to him.

Just so her anger and hurt could fall on deaf ears.

* * *

Her fingertips ran over the spines of the books arranged on the shelf. They came away with lesser dust than they had the day before. She wished her boredom could be expressed in more noticeable gestures. They've been staying in Italy for a week. Surely he wasn't really expecting her to sit tight all day long. Every single day.

But she guessed he did.

It was exactly what he was expecting her to do as she watched him type away on his laptop - wait on him for as long as he wanted. He went on with his research like a machine, indifferent to the weariness that occupied her mind.

Every three hours a fresh dose of the P30 would be administered to her. They had gone with this time table religiously for the whole week since their arrival in the country. She had observed that the drug would run dry half an hour at most before the next scheduled dose. It was intermittent— the more rigorous her activities were, the faster it ran out.

Jill believed this was something he had yet to learn about, making it her little ace.

This was the hand she'd been dealt with.

She would have to make do.

* * *

He didn't seem to have any specific tasks for her to carry out these days. So deeply immersed with his computers and phone calls. But he always kept her around the room. Always within his sight, within his reach. Always. The arrangement left her no chance of even exploring the property they had settled into.

The routine was an advantage and a disadvantage to her. She had gathered that he was working on something new... _No_. He was working on something he had discontinued before. She knew what that meant. A stronger virus. More dead people. He was aiming to put it back on development as soon as possible. Africa had also been mentioned several times.

And TRICELL.

She was furious when she had learned that TRICELL was funding the efforts of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance as well as Wesker's insanity. They should have known better than to trust another pharmaceutical giant. It was so painfully obvious. It was almost laughable. Who else would be financing the development of all those bioweapons the B.S.A.A. kept on encountering? Who else had the capacity?

It was like Umbrella all over again.

S.T.A.R.S. had been formed for Umbrella's benefit before. They unknowingly worked for the company—served as oblivious test subjects.

But Umbrella was dead and so were most of the members of S.T.A.R.S.

History seemed to have a habit of repeating itself though.

So she was back on being a guinea pig.

* * *

Unable to find anything else to do, she plopped down on the sofa. Her body curling around one of the plush throw pillows, sulking. She couldn't see the point of him taking her out of the cryostasis just so he could see her laze around.

Her eyes narrowed at the thought. A certain question had been nagging her mind since her rebirth.

 _Why did he take her with him?_

* * *

Half an hour later, his presence loomed over her on the sofa, a dark shadow taking her out of her trance.

It was time for another dose.

The sting that came from the injection barely made her flinch. She had gotten used to it.

She guessed everything since her awakening was just a matter of getting used to.

So simple.

He moved away when he was done. Not a minute later, she felt the rush of the drug into her system.

Her gaze shifted from him to the antique wooden piano sitting right next to a sculpture of a luscious woman. She had been eyeing it from the very first day she was forced to stay in the study with him. In the few couple of minutes she had her body to herself, she found her interest being drawn to it repeatedly. Her fingers longed to touch those ivory keys. Some forgotten etude already started playing at the back of her mind.

She supposed she could ask.

It was such a harmless request.

She supposed she could ask.

She had a gracious master after all.

She supposed she could ask tomorrow.

"Would you like to play, Jill?" Right on cue, as if he had the ability to peer into her mind.

She wasn't entirely sure what he was asking of her. She never did. It didn't seem to matter. Her answer was the same every time.

 _"Yes."_

* * *

She found herself standing before the upright piano a moment later. Her fingers pressed down on a few keys randomly. Hesitant.

What should she play?

Moonlight Sonata?

How tasteless.

"Perhaps I could teach you something new." She retrieved her hands to herself, watched him get rid of his black leather gloves. He was already seated on the stool. His long fingers splayed over the keys. It wasn't surprising to learn that he was knowledgeable in the musical arts. He seemed to be knowledgeable in a lot of things. Besides, she had always thought that he had a pianist's hands.

Skillful.

Especially if the instrument he would have to play was her body.

She stood there waiting to hear him play. Her breath held in tight. And then she was mesmerized when his slender fingers began dancing over ivory and charcoal keys. It was a melody she had never heard before. A slow piece, an eerily sad piece. She wondered if he could understand the meaning of it. She wondered if he cared.

Unlikely.

Her eyes studied his face. All beautiful sharp angles. The sunglasses were absent. He seemed to favor the dim yellow lighting of the room.

He stopped playing a few minutes later. Turning to her expectantly.

She wondered if she should applaud him.

"What is it called?" His hand wrapped around one of her delicate wrists, giving it a nearly imperceptible tug.

She responded to his unspoken demand, sinking immediately into his lap as she remained looking into his eyes.

"Regret." He was so close that his answer was a mere whisper on her skin.

 _Regret?_ She searched his hellish eyes for a trace of it.

She found herself not surprised to find none.

* * *

For the next two hours or so, he taught her how to play the piece. His piece. She had always been a fast learner. And she was faster with the drug in her. The drug whose sole purpose was to please him.

Her body had melted against the heat of him in the middle of the 'lesson'. He expressed his approval with a gentle kiss on her exposed shoulder. The feel of his lips barely brushing the skin there was enough to make heat gather within her.

"That was supposed to be an A#." His fingers dug into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. A show of his disapproval.

"Again, Jill." His blunt fingernails scraped over her skin then, so softly, trying to soothe the abuse he had just left behind.

The soft scraping motion was enough to make her body tighten in anticipation. She realized, in between the heady mix of his touches and kisses, that he had not been intimate with her since their arrival in the country.

Her clumsy fingers missed another note.

The arm wrapped loosely around her waist tautened. The hand that was tormenting the flesh of her thigh moved to curl around her neck, shifting her slightly so he could see her face.

There was a yearning in her, uncontrolled and unwanted by her.

"Am I boring you?" He claimed her parted lips in a chaste kiss.

A week seemed to be a long time.

Her lips chased his when he deliberately pulled away.

A week seemed to be an awfully long time.

"No..." She wished she could sound more detached, rather than needy when she sought his mouth for a deeper kiss.

Her body moved closer, molding itself onto him. Her thigh brushed against the hardness in his pants. Her breath hitched at the feel of him throbbing. She hated it, how her body was just so in tune with his.

"No?" She straddled him, so that the pressure building right between her legs could be relieved. The action simply caused the ache to become worse.

Setting her aflame.

Sweet agony.

His hands kneaded over her exposed thighs. Oh how she ached there. Right there between her thighs. She was creaming all over the sheer panties she was wearing. Shameless.

"No. Never." She wound herself tight around him, pulling herself so close it seemed like she wanted to climb into his body.

And _be one_ with him.

His fingers wrapped around the exquisite curve of her neck. His thumb tilted her head to an angle he liked.

Then he stole her breath with his vicious mouth.

* * *

The P30 drug was wearing off by the time he was laying her down on one of the plush sofas. She gasped upon realizing that the last effects of it was slipping away. Fast. She had never seen it as some sort of a thin wall separating her from the harsh world outside. Protecting her. Shielding her from the vile truths her body had become a slave to.

She wished she could still pretend it was someone else moaning loud out there. Someone else getting lost in the throes of lust. Someone else wantonly begging for more.

But as he finally slid into the thirsty heat of her...

She realized it was Jill Valentine who threw her head back against the cushions.

Lost in painful pleasure.

It was her high pitched screams that filled the room in time with each of his thrusts.

Lost in burning passion.

It was her body that surrendered so peacefully to his assault.

Lost.

So lost in him.

There was no escaping this.

Whatever was happening here.

There was no escape.

 _I'm coming..._ She thought, breathless, as she pulled on the tattered remains of her little black dress. Trying to hold onto something as his pace increased in a punishing rhythm. He had torn the hindering material in his haste to sink himself into her willing body.

"Come for me, Jill." A command.

His breath was so hot against the skin of her leg. So hot and wet. He nipped there at the back of her knee, making her shudder.

"Yes. Yes... _Yes!_ " She bit down on her knuckles, preventing her mindless mouth from damning her further.

But as her vision turned white and her body melted into a convulsing mess...

She wondered what was the difference.

 _Hell was paradise._

* * *

When she came down from her high, he had already flipped her over. Her unsteady hands and knees tried to find purchase on the cushions. She felt vaguely empty. He had pulled out during the height of her orgasm. And judging by the absence of the familiar heat of his ejaculate, he hadn't finish with her.

She whimpered at the thought, before she could even attempt to stop herself.

Her sweaty forehead rested on the cushioned arm of the sofa. Her eyes studied that little space between her shaking legs. She watched him rub himself along her weeping slit. He was like a fire brand. It felt like he would melt right then and there with each teasing stroke. Melting into her skin. Merging with her.

Her hand moved to reach for him, slipping between her legs and wrapping around that heavy length tormenting her. She bit down on her finger, muffling the cry that tried to escape her mouth when she pressed the swollen head against her engorged clit. She moved herself back and forth against it, creating delightful friction. With each needy brush, she quivered like a bow string.

She gave him a few good strokes. His low groans mingled with her soft whimpers. Oh how he throbbed there in her small hand. So robust. Her mouth watered at the feel of him. Her pussy even more so. She closed her eyes, biting on her lower lip as she aligned him at her waiting entrance. She slowly pushed him in. Tremors ran the length of her body as she steadily worked him inside. The girth alone made her strain as he stretched her so wide.

Always testing her limits.

She managed to take about half of his length in, relishing in the way his enormous cock rub along all the sensitive parts of her as she purposely contracted around it. The shallow thrusts she could make left her breathing hard. Her fingers massaged her neglected clit in time with her sensual movements, intending to have another sweet release soon.

She guessed she could take pleasure from him for a change.

It didn't last long.

He grabbed her by the crook of her elbow, forcing her slightly upright with a rather impatient tug.

Then he filled her completely with _the rest of him_.

* * *

A conference call was part of Wesker's schedule that evening. He was done with Jill by the time the shrill ringing of his phone disturbed the silence that had taken residence in the room. He adjusted his pants before taking the call, moving to lean on the wooden desk containing his current work.

His eyes skimmed over the various reports and data scattered there when he saw her move. He had left her sitting there on one of the upholstered chairs. Pleasantly warm and sated.

Focus disrupted, he tried to keep his attention on the person on the other line. His business partner talked about making some necessary adjustments that need his immediate action.

Jill moved in her seat and he watched each weighed movement.

She was uncoordinated as she slipped a hand between her legs.

Almost unconsciously.

She touched herself.

 _There_.

Obviously trying to soothe the dull ache that had resulted from their rough activities. She shifted, just slightly, so she could assess herself in a more comfortable position.

Then she parted her legs.

He lost count how many times he had emptied his load inside of her. Not that he was actually counting. Not that it actually held any significance. But he stood there, transfixed at the startling white stream of his ejaculate flowing out of her. The hunger that seized him in the next moment was far from comprehensible.

He stared intently as she worked a finger in her supple flesh. Ignorant still to the animalistic want brewing inside of him.

The delicious moan that escaped her lips sounded almost as if it was just right beside his ear. The person who was actually at his ear asked him a question. Several questions. But he was unable to hear anything else besides _her_.

She carefully moved to pick her torn dress up from the terrazzo floor. He didn't miss her wince at the movement. She used the hem of it to wipe at herself. Slowly.

 _Enticing_.

Surely she couldn't remain clueless. She just couldn't. Not with his eyes devouring every inch of her.

"Albert?"

"I'll call you later." Jill seemed to be jolted from her task by the sound of his voice, instantly reminding her that she wasn't the only person occupying the room. She stiffened at the sound of his phone crashing on the desk when he discarded it there.

She watched him approach with wary eyes.

 _Of course_.

Her next dose was long overdue. And the time he would call as her 'free time' was long overdue as well.

He supposed he could dope her up now.

But there was no time for such a thing as he found himself cupping a hand at the base of her neck. His eyes flicked down on her lips - swollen, bitten, and glistening, waiting to be claimed by him. His fingers involuntarily curled in her sweaty golden locks.

Pulling.

Testing.

He intended to tug her up so she would meet his mouth. She resisted.

 _Very well_.

He leaned down so he could capture her lovely lips in a ravenous kiss. She recoiled from him.

No more false obedience then.

Her hands grappled on the tightening grip he had on her hair. He jerked her out of the chair and straightened himself up, leaving her no choice but to stand on the tips of her toes. His mouth worked on prying hers into submission.

She tasted the same. Like all those years before. Melting warmth and life. Hints of powder dust. She felt familiar in his arms, hauntingly familiar, the familiarity scratching at his memories, at who he was _before_ the virus.

His length swelled in his pants, causing him to press up against her. Her futile struggles only weakened when he slipped a hand between her legs. Her surprised gasp fueling the desire burning within him.

"No.", she gasped out against his mouth as he brought her left leg up, fitting himself tight at that heated juncture between her thighs. "No more, Wesker", she whispered again, short of breath, panting in exhaustion or want he could not pinpoint.

Her hands had given up on their mission to get his grip off of her. They had softened and settled on his face, absentmindedly caressing the skin there.

Almost lovingly.

As if she could soften the sharp angles there. As if she could soften him.

 _As if she could_.

He withdrew his hand from her drenched heat. He stared into her pleading eyes rimmed with tears.

Her skin had become so pale, patches of pink and darker red tainted all that length of white. The rich earthy color of her hair no more, replaced by something light golden.

All these _changes_ left permanent by the cryostatis...

And yet she remained so familiar. His very bones ached at the feel of her.

His eyes fixated on her lips again. They were forming words, a word and a name, attempting to fool him.

He blocked her spell out, lifted and coiled her around himself. Her sweat-covered skin sticking along his.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, reluctant and giving in.

* * *

Wesker carried her helpless form over the cluttered wooden desk. Sweeping everything off of its polished surface before spilling her over it. He was frantic, like a child overly excited to play.

Jill felt him free himself from the constraints of his pants. He was pulsating hot against her. Well-lubricated with so much precome. She threw her head back when he sheathed himself back inside of her. His movements were hurried. The rhythm of his thrusts erratic.

It wouldn't last too long.

His hand settled heavily right in the middle of her breastbone - grounding her.

Like she possessed the capability of shaking him off.

She laid there yielding as he fucked her raw, already too tired to contemplate on doing anything else.

She wished she could close her throat off so she would stop herself from moaning. Her body had become too accustomed to him, made incapable of not enjoying his ministrations.

He started thumbing her clit. She gasped, legs twisting about his waist. She braced herself on the arm securing her against the desk. She didn't want to come anymore. Her body was already bordering on over-sensitivity. She feared another orgasm would drive her to the brink of insanity. But she felt it, the pleasure accumulating, _fast and steady_.

"Come on, Jill." The next thrust jostled her, making her whimper. "I want to feel you.", he grumbled in his lust.

He tore at her relentlessly until her body finally came apart in his arms.

Like it always did.

* * *

She watched him with half-lidded eyes. He dragged his hand from her breastbone... to the valley between her heaving breasts. His palm wrapped around her left tit. Squeezing for a moment. Her heartbeat against it so palpable.

He was staring too much, savoring every inch of her, familiarizing...

She closed her eyes, tongue running on her bottom lip. His hand eased its way down to the heat continuously pooling at her belly. Her body was milking him _well_. She could still feel him pulsing inside of her. Spurt after spurt. Seemingly endless.

It was so good.

It was so warm.

 _It was so much_.

She briefly wondered if she could get pregnant from this.

What an absurd thought.

* * *

Displeasure - it was the feeling that remained in him when everything had been done. His face set in a furious frown.

Wesker placed the sunglasses back on. Busied himself with picking up all the fallen objects that once inhabited the desk they had just desecrated. The intricate Tiffany table lamp was in pieces. The laptop was broken. Some of the paperwork were torn. The rest were crumpled.

All this mess.

Because of one woman.

He found his phone among the pile. The screen was cracked. He remembered then that he had an important phone call to make.

His displeasure increased with each ticking second.

All this mess.

Because of Jill Valentine.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her busy herself with trying to put on what remained of her dress.

It was a lost cause.

She gingerly reached for his discarded dress shirt. He didn't say anything when she slipped it on. And he tried to ignore the effect the sight of her in his clothes had on him.

 _He would not let her do this_.

She seated herself on one of the chairs. He took notice of how she chose the farthest one from him. From there, she proceeded to wait on him like a doll in the corner.

"Go clean yourself up."

He dismissed her. Eager to rid himself of her distracting presence.

They acted like she was under the P30 when she walked out of the study - a telling limp in her steps and his seed running down her thighs.

* * *

Even in her absence, the potent scent left by their excessive coupling continued to stoke the fire in him.

He couldn't do anything else but detest it while his body entertained other ideas. All seemed to be involving her.

The handset was crushed in his grasp.

With agitation riding his spine, he figured this was the price to be paid for saving her wretched life he first intended to take.

* * *

He had not been that invested in her recuperation after the fall.

"Are you planning on turning this into a habit?" Behind his ever present glasses, he had surveyed the room, unconsciously taking notes of what could be salvaged and what could be not.

She had made quite a mess.

Everything in the room appeared to be broken. Useless. Including the slip of a woman trying to stand there with her fractured body. In the end, he found himself apathetic to the destruction she had wrought.

He would just have her transferred into a newly furnished room. Again.

"What am I doing here?" Her breathing was quick and heavy. Labored.

"What did you do to me?! Where is Chris?! What did you do to him?!" Same questions. Every damn time. Not that he was in any way present to the past demonstrations of her 'outbursts'. There were more pressing matters worthy of his undivided attention. Like his development of a new virus. He had yet to name it.

But Jill seemed desperate for some of his attention, having killed four of her attending physicians in cold blood. He almost wanted to applaud her tenacity. They were an expendable lot. But surely it was somehow required of him to draw the line somewhere. _Four_ seemed to be a bit too much. So he decided to finally intervene.

He watched her for a few more seconds. A bitter rage was marring her pale face. But he knew she wouldn't be able to remain standing there for much longer. It was too taxing. Her legs were in casts for a reason. A reason their owner blinded herself to time and time again. Her bones couldn't heal properly since she awakened from her coma.

Her stubbornness would be the death of her.

"What did you do, Wesker?! Why am I here?! Did you infect me with something?!" A second later, she collapsed - breathless. Her body couldn't stand the strain any longer. Her face was covered with tears he knew she wasn't even aware she was shedding.

She looked so weak that it should be disgusting.

He took a step towards her crumpled form. She was sobbing, so much suffering in her cries.

"What did you do?" She asked again, despair in her voice.

"I believe the act was called 'saving your life', Jill. Are you aware of a better word for it?" He stopped right in front of her. His eyes fixed on the object held by one of her bony hands. The bloody scalpel glinted under the fluorescent light. He could almost feel it sinking into his skin hungry to draw his blood.

"Why... save me?"

She was too slow though. Even a lowly human could have predicated her move. He crushed her offending hand right under his boot before she could anticipate it. He could hardly feel any resistance as he ground her wrist onto the floor. And she writhed there in even more pain. Like a worm being doused in salt.

"I believe you said you didn't want to die."

* * *

He could tell she was in so much pain when she came to again. Her head lolled heavily against the pillows. Her eyes were bleary. He had sedated her. But didn't bothered with any pain killers. He watched with morbid fascination as she realized the absence of the casts on her legs. Feeling the grotesque swelling of her limbs. Feeling the sharp bones protruding through her skin on one part then on another.

"You should appreciate your doctors more, Jill." A choked sob escaped her mouth upon hearing his taunting voice. "They've done quite a decent work on 'fixing' you. And yet you repaid them by slashing their throats open. How heartless."

"They worked for you!" Through gritted teeth, she justified her impulsive actions. Her retort was expected.

Self-righteous fool.

"They did. And now you've rendered at least three families fatherless." Horror and guilt mixed and bled through her light blue eyes. "I thought you finally bonded with the last one. He was young. Aspiring for so much. Talented. He wants to develop a cure for cancer. His poor mother is being ravaged by the treacherous disease as we speak. But her only hope is extinguished by one ungrateful patient."

She turned her face away from him. Away from his words. Her remorse was so tangible. He could taste it in the air.

He almost wanted to tell her the truth. The truth that her last doctor was involved in a little project he had given to TRICELL. The lad lacked imagination. Unable to produce any satisfactory results with the enhancement of the Las Plagas sample he had provided.

Her doctors before that simpleton were tinkering on the t-Abyss virus. Something he knew Jill was very familiar with. They volunteered on taking her as a patient for the role she played on the Queen Zenobia incident. Hoping that the vaccine she had injected in herself with would have left behind some interesting pieces in her bloodwork that they could make use of. They came up empty-handed. Just disappointing him in the end.

Before her remorse could completely consume her, he lifted her into his arms. His grip hard but careful enough, just a tinge of gentleness.

"The other physicians are now far too terrified of you. So that leaves you under my care. This time..."

His hold on her tightened a fraction and she cried in obvious distress. Her body weakly trashed, trying to get away from his warning touch.

"You'll realize your folly."

* * *

He was not that invested in her recuperation after the fall. He merely browsed through reports on her recovery whenever he could spare the time. Both of her legs were broken, irreparable by mediocre science. One of her arms had been dislocated. Her right one pulled roughly off of its socket. He would take credit for that injury. The rest of her was riddled with cuts and bruises.

She was rather fortunate still, he supposed.

The fall had snapped his neck. The impact had cracked his skull open. All those bones breaking. Then piercing every muscle they could find in him. But it was _her hands_. Her dainty hands that bled him. Made him bleed there on the dirt. Like livestock.

He died again that night.

And then Albert Wesker saved his murderer.


End file.
